


The Angel and the Witch

by stay_light



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Goode High School (Percy Jackson), High School, Nico di Angelo is a Cute Dork, OC, Post-War, Tags Are Hard, give this a chance it doesn't suck, i haven't read a nico/oc hs fic that i like so im making one myself, i started writing this when i was 14 and decided to come back to it 5 years later, i suck at summaries just read the story, im giving nico piercings and tattoos because why not, it may seem terrible at the beginning but pls read until the 2nd chapter, nico had a glow up damn, u know those headcannons you read on tumblr? yeah this is sorta that, yes this is cliche but it's different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stay_light/pseuds/stay_light
Summary: Life seems calm after the second giant war. With his friends in New Rome, happy, and no major being trying to destroy the world, what's there for Nico to complain about? For starters, he's been forced into attending a mortal high school while trying to keep his godly heritage a secret. But that wasn't all. Something was brewing, something even the gods won't speak about.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace/Piper McLean, Nico di Angelo/Original Character(s), Nico di Angelo/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

This was idiocy. 

Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades, was being coerced into something he vehemently hated. And nobody forces Nico di Angelo to do anything. But here he was, stewing in frustration, knowing he had to comply with Chiron’s wishes. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Because why should he have to go to public school? To hurl trigonometric equations at monsters and hoped that killed them? Because it sure bored him to death. 

But he supposed he knew where Chiron was coming from, because Nico wasn’t stupid - he caught on very quickly. Nico was claimed by his father at the age of ten, while most demigods were claimed around their early teenage years. Which means he had missed out on three years of his education. And now he had to attend high school to make up for it. He didn’t know why Chiron hadn’t sent him immediately after things dealing with the war had calmed down - he was seventeen at the moment, after all. 

But it wasn’t that Nico was stupid - he had wit and intelligence like no other, a brilliant mind, especially on the battlefield. And he was a hundred percent sure Chiron had set this up for another reason. After Gaea’s defeat, he had shut himself away from everyone he possibly could. 

Being in tartarus for months on end may do that to a guy. 

Two years had passed since then, and he wasn’t doing much better. Oh, he loved his friends from the Argo, but those were the only people he could stomach being around. Because they fought back to back, and he trusted them with his life. 

But it still hurt.

Because seeing Annabeth and Percy cling to each other when they needed reassurance from the horrors that would never leave them, he always felt a pang of pain as he remembered his torture. Seeing Jason and Piper laugh together as they walked through camp, or Hazel and Frank as they cleaned up the arena after a spar, left a little black dot on his heart.

He was truly and utterly alone. 

Bitterly, he wondered if this was how Leo constantly felt as the seventh wheel. He felt a lump rise in his throat at the thought, and tried desperately to think of anything else. Rainbows. Unicorns. Pink. Sparkles. Happy thoughts. 

He sighed and stood up from his previous position on the squishy sofa he was sprawled out on. It was his last day here, and by that, he meant his last free day here. Tomorrow- technically, today- he would start school. What's worse, he would be coming in after the school year started, meaning he wouldn't know what was going on. Since he had nowhere to go, Chiron was letting him stay at camp through the school year. 

The green fire flickered in their torches. Annabeth had designed this place to look, for lack of a better word, sick. There was no better way to describe it. It was always warm and cozy, despite the skulls and skeletons and general creepiness and cold feel of the place. Well, from the outside. On the inside, though, it was awesome. Black silk sheets and bunks, deep obsidian walls, chains dangling from chandeliers, and huge cozy black sofas and armchairs. There was a torch with everlasting green flames every three feet. Believe it or not, you could adjust the strength of the flames with just a dial . He didn't know how she did that, but it was hella cool. There were tiny refrigerators stocked with junk food, so Nico skipped dinner one every so often and pigged out (again, he didn't really like people). It was his safe haven, and the thought of leaving it for eight hours a day made him shudder. 

He tossed his now full backpack on his bed and collapsed back on the sofa. It was two in the morning and he still hadn't slept. Ironically enough, Nico was practically nocturnal. The most he’d gone without sleep was four days and three nights, where he had binge watched American Horror Story. Despite snorting about their portrayals of spirits and possession, he watched it through the end, and enjoyed it immensely. Not that he would ever admit it. 

Still fully dressed, he put his arm over his eyes and fell asleep. 

*****

A loud blaring noise woke him from his wonderful, dreamless sleep. He looked at the clock on the nightstand between the sofa and his bunk. 5:30 in the morning. No. Slamming his palm on the machine, he rolled over and closed his eyes, determined to go back to sleep. 

It got louder. 

There was a knock on his cabin door, which was strange, because no one dared to enter the Hades cabin. When he ignored it, the knocking got louder.

“Nico, I know that you are awake. Open the door!” came a familiar voice. He reluctantly stood and walked to the door, throwing it open, revealing the sleek body of a white horse fused with a torso of a bearded man.

“Why can't this wait until it's actually light outside?” Nico demanded sourly. 

“Walk with me,” was all he said, and headed toward the big house. 

He walked into the door after Chiron and collapsed into a chair. “Okay, what did you want this early in the morning?” he demanded once more, pissed that he only got three hours of sleep. 

Chiron smiled. “Well, you start school in a few hours. I want you to take precautions.” 

Nico rolled his eyes. “Right. I think I know what this is about, Chiron. Don't reveal your identity as a demigod, don't stir up trouble, which I'm ninety percent sure will happen, and don't attract too much attention so that monsters don't come and eat the mortals’ faces,” he said dryly. “Seriously, I know-”

“And I know you know,” Chiron interrupted softly, “but there's also something else.” 

“Something else?”

“Here.” Chiron held out his hand. In it lay a silver chain bracelet and a small obsidian rod. 

“Okay, cool, but what am I supposed to do with them?” Nico asked, puzzled, taking them into his palm and inspecting them. 

“The bracelet helps you control the mist. Actually, it was Thalia’s when she was younger. She wanted to give it to someone who needed it more than she did.”

He was slightly touched at that. Thalia was always an older sister type to him. Maybe she was protective of him because they both were children of the big three, or maybe it was because his older sister, Bianca, had been a hunter of Artemis before she had died. 

Smiling slightly at the thought of his sister, even though it had a bitter edge to it, he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist and buckled the clasp. “And what's the rod for?” 

“That’s for easy access to your sword.” 

“What?” He looked down; his sword was hanging from his belt. He carried it everywhere. Pure habit. 

“Some, ah, special mortals with the ability to see through the mist may see it hanging by your side, so we're going to have to conceal it,” the centaur said cheerfully. “You're familiar with Percy’s pen? Riptide?” 

“Um...yeah?” He replied cautiously. 

“Well, this works in a similar way. Now, twist it in different directions.”

“Uh…” Nico looked down at the rod. On closer inspection, he saw that there was a tiny line in the middle of it. “Okay.” And he twisted it in opposite directions, hearing a click. 

He felt a weight disappear from his hip. Glancing down again, he realized that his sword was gone. He shot to his feet. “What just happened?” He demanded of Chiron, who was watching him calmly.

“Settle down. Your sword has merely gone into that rod. You see, both the hilt of your sword and this rod are made from the same stone of obsidian.” He continued softly, calmly. Nico sat, fingering the black object suspiciously. 

“Okay, so?” 

“So,” Chiron replied patiently, “they're connected. With a little magic, they can be absorbed into one another and hidden. Just always keep that rod on you. It's connected to your sword, and a warrior’s sword is a warrior’s spirit.”

“Uh- so this tiny rod basically doubles as a sheath for my sword so nobody sees it?” Nico asked in slight awe. “And all I have to do is keep it on me?”

“Yes, that's all. The bracelet helps with the magic used in the rod, so that's why you need to keep it close. On your skin, preferably.”

“So I should get a piercing?” He mused. “Maybe my ear,” he contemplated, mostly to himself. 

“Using it as an earring would suffice,” Chiron said. “Would you like me to pierce your ear?” 

“I can take care of that, but how will I be able to twist it when it's in my ear? I mean, I can't waste too much time scrabbling with it if there's a monster…” 

“You don't necessarily have to twist. You can tap it or whatever is most comfortable with you. It’s keyed specifically to you and your wishes.”

“Hmm, okay,” he mused aloud, slightly creeped out by the fact that a hunk of rock was connected to his mind. But hey, magic, right? “Would tapping it twice work? I might touch it accidentally.” He lightly touched the rod twice, and suddenly a familiar weight was in his free hand, and he automatically tightened his grip on the familiar hilt of his sword. 

“Right. You're all set. Good luck on your first day, Nico,” Chiron said, swishing his tail and turning to leave the big house. 

Nico started and looked up at the centaur incredulously. “Hey, if that was all, why’d you wake me up so early?” he demanded angrily. 

Chiron turned around and looked at him innocently. “Why, I didn't want you to be late for your first day! You have to make a good impression.” He chuckled lightly, as if to emphasize that his point was obvious.

“It’s six in the morning!” 

“Precisely,” Chiron said, and left, leaving Nico to simmer in his thoughts. Muttering under his breath, the boy stood up, released his sword from its “sheath”, and stuffed the rod into his pocket. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep now that he was awake and annoyed. Well, he could last through the day. He's functioned on less sleep before. 

Still, he made his way back to his cabin and collapsed into an armchair and put his face in his hands. 

“That stupid horse…”


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't find a good place to end chapter 2, and it was getting really long, so i just decided to split it in two and post the second half when i finished it. please let me know what you think!

_ Day one  _

Six thirty in the morning of a chilly, windy day found Nico di Angelo walking down a dark street, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets and shoulders hunched against the wind. The fingers of his left hand curled around the obsidian rod Chiron had given him for warmth. 

Although fall was his favorite season, it was ridiculous that it was  _ this _ cold. It was  _ October _ , for crying out loud! Shaking his head and muttering something about the people above laughing at his expense, he continued on his path. 

He broke off from the street into an alley and pushed a door open a few feet from the entrance of the alley. A bell rang dully.

“Hey, Mark, it's me!” 

The shop he had walked into was another one of his havens, which was saying a lot, since there were actual people here. It was a small, dimly lit place, drawings of what ranged from roses to half-rotted faces decorating every inch of the walls. A rack of assorted piercings leaned in the corner. It smelled of ink and the sharp tang of metal was ever present in the air, which made Nico grin. 

“Hi,” a man leaning against a countertop cooed. “What can I do for you today, Angel?” Mark was a man who seemed to be either in his twenties or thirties, Nico couldn't tell. His angular eyes were alight with a slightly crazed glint and his face was full of metal. He had a horrible blond dye job which was swept to one side of his face, the other side shaved close to his skull. His bare arms were completely covered in tattoos, which consisted of dragons tangled in a sea of acid and roses. “Another design?” 

Nico silently held up the obsidian rod between his index finger and thumb. 

“Oooooh, naughty. You know I don't pierce if it's not my own, but I'll make an exception for you. Where do you want it? Bellybutton?”

Nico glared jokingly. “I know what you're trying to do, and the answer’s no. Through my ear, actually.” 

“Aw, you're no fun,” Mark pouted, but he stepped out from behind his counter and started rummaging in a cabinet. “Are you sure you don't want more ink? I barely did any work on you last time…” 

“Maybe another time,” Nico said absently, waving a hand dismissively, “but I have to get going or else I'll be running late.” 

Mark beckoned Nico over to a stool sitting next to a small desk. “Late for what?” 

“I’m moving schools,” Nico said smoothly, and it wasn't a lie. Not that he’d been to school for several years, but still. “It's my first day there.” 

Mark made a sympathetic noise. “Good luck, angel. Right ear?” When he nodded, Mark rubbed a cold cleaning solution all over the front of Nico’s ear. 

“I wish you'd stop calling me that.” 

“ _ Mai, mio Angelo.”  _ Mark snapped his fingers under Nico’s nose and held out his hand. He obligingly placed the rod into the artist’s waiting palm. “Ooh, obsidian. It suits you,” he said, smirking. But you do realize this is going to hurt, right? You’re lucky this thing isn't bigger than a few millimeters in diameter. But the ends are blunt. It's gonna  _ hurt _ going in.” 

Nico ignored his last comment. “Do whatever you have to.” 

“Right.” Nico watched as Mark bustled around, taking measurements of the rod and his ear, preparing a sterile needle, and putting on a pair of gloves. There were two sharp stings, and then the warmth and weight of the rod as if settled in the cartilage of his ear. He let out a breath and smiled slightly, reaching up to stroke it in which he could tell would become a habit.

Mark set a bottle in front of Nico, jarring him. “Clean it three times a day to prevent infection or inflation for six weeks. Don't take it out before then unless it hurts or swells up. Actually, why am I telling you this? You already know,” he said, gesturing to the black studs in Nico’s earlobes. He'd gotten those, along with other things, when he was fifteen, after the war with Gaea. It had marked a change in his life, cheesy as it sounded. He reveled in the sting, at first- because at that point,  _ anything _ , even pain, was a welcome distraction from his thoughts- then, later, the reassuring weight that was constantly in his lobes. He'd never taken them out. They would be with him forever, as the war would be, along with the losses and heartbreak and victory and pride. 

“Right,” he said, snagging the bottle off the table and tucked it into his backpack, which was lying at his feet. He pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket. “Thanks. How much?”

Mark’s fingers closed over a ten dollar bill and tugged it free of the stack Nico was rifling through. He waved it in front of the boy’s face and moved back to the counter, placing it in the cashier. “This is fine. Now shoo. Your presence is scaring away my other customers. Out.”

Nico looked shocked. “You have other customers?” He ducked to avoid a rag that was aimed at his face. He smirked and headed to the door. 

“Don't kill anyone there!”

***

Nico was sitting in a desk farthest away from the front of the room that was available. Unfortunately, there were already some people there, and he was somewhere close to the middle of the room. He was still early, but not incredibly so, and the room was getting steadily louder and louder as more students filed in. He let out a breath as the speed of his bouncing leg increased. His ADHD was worse whenever more people were around. The school had a powerful air conditioner, so Nico was able to wear a jacket to hide his SPQR tattoo, but as more people crowded into the room, making it hotter, he began to regret not just wearing a long sleeved shirt.

A loud laugh cut through Nico’s thoughts and he looked up. A group of jocks had entered, and they were as jock-ish as they possibly could be- arms bulging under their letter jackets, nearly empty backpacks, talking loudly about girls and sports. There was a group of cheerleaders clustered together in the middle of the room, near him, and they let out high-pitched giggles when the jocks had walked in. Nico groaned and slammed his head to his desk. Maybe if he killed enough of his brain cells he would be able to tune them out. He looked up after his head began to throb. It hadn't worked.  _ Why am I so stupid?  _ His headache made the voices louder. There were other people, too. The majority of the students were on their phones, some feverishly studying for a test they had apparently forgotten about, or simply reading a book to pass the time. Actually, the only one reading a book was one girl, who seemed totally engrossed in it, and Nico felt an annoyed stab of envy. Whatever could distract her from the cacophony of hormones and drama was obviously working. Of course, Nico couldn't be at peace when reading because it was a continuous struggle for him due to his dyslexia. 

A sharp clap cut through the conversation, and the room quieted almost instantly. A woman was at the front of the room, her hair pulled back sharply from her face, her heels clicking harshly against the floor when she moved. She looked extremely stern, the kind of person who would shush you if you sneezed. 

“Before we get started today, class, we have a transfer student. Please be welcoming to him. Mr. Nico di Angelo…” 

Nico could have cheerfully slammed his head to his desk again. She had mispronounced his name, and it was so horribly said that he cringed. She pronounced it like _Nai-ko_ _Die Angel-oh._ How was this lady a teacher? Was she Mr. D’s long lost sister? He raised his eyes to the ceiling, exhaled harshly, and corrected her. “It's Nico di Angelo.” 

The majority of the class turned to stare at him, seizing him up, and he heard a few snickers and mutterings. He knew he looked intimidating, which is what he was hoping for. He wanted as little people coming up to him as possible. He wore black jeans, dark rugged combat boots, and a light black zip-up jacket that was open over a tight black shirt. He even hung a chain from his belt for extra kicks. His hair was styled in an undercut, shaved close to his head from his nape to the middle of his ears, the rest of his hair falling in short waves into his eyes and over his ears. The teacher turned to glare at him, as if it was his fault his name was pronounced the way it was, and she was correct all along. 

She  _ humphed _ sharply and turned to the board behind her. “Very well.” She began to write on the board, but he couldn't see because she was blocking his line of sight. Not that he cared. He wouldn't make an effort to read it when he was sure she would be vocally teaching as well. “We started our mythology unit last week. Please try to keep up.” 

He actually brightened at this. Maybe he could get a half hour of sleep in. Or he could tune her out and let his thoughts wander. Perhaps send a prayer up to his father…He smirked at that thought.  _ ‘Dear dad, please get me out of this hellhole…’  _

He would have gratefully done any- or all of these, if she could teach properly. Even though her information wasn't incorrect, per se, she butchered names here and there, went off on tangents, and lost her train of thought mid-sentence.. Granted, greek names were a little tricky, but it was almost as if she wasn’t trying or didn’t care. Maybe both.

He groaned quietly and shook his head. This was going to be a long day. 

***

Ashley tried to pay attention to Mrs Wright’s lesson, she really did. But she kept bouncing her pencil on her blank, open notebook, tapping her feet in sync with her pencil rapidly on the ground. Her eyes flicked here and there, landing on the new kid, who was sitting a few rows away from her, every few seconds- but this time, her gaze stayed on him for longer. She could tell he was new when she walked in, because he had that feel to him. He practically radiated waves of anti-social-ness and annoyance. Apparently, new kid didn't like it here, and she didn't really blame him. It was a place where people judged you based on how you looked or how well you could follow instructions, and discriminated against you if you couldn't. 

Her eyes lingered on his clothes. She’d heard the whispers of  _ goth _ and  _ emo freak _ float around when he corrected Wright on his name and drew attention to himself, but he really didn't seem that way to her. The school  _ did _ have a few goths, and although they wore black like he did, they were  _ way _ creepier- not that he was creepy. Maybe he just liked the color. They wore makeup, outlining their eyes in black and sometimes red to make it seem like they were crying, and most had terrible black dye jobs, the roots of their hair still visible. He, from what she could tell, was naturally black-haired. He  _ did _ have piercings, though- something the goths went all out on- but it wasn't anything ridiculous like lip rings or eyebrow bars or holes in his ears half an inch in diameter. He did have tiny black studs in his lobes, too dull to be plastic but glimmered somewhat, too dark to be metal, and she guessed they were some sort of precious gem. A bar of what appeared to be made of the same material was pierced through the top half of his inner cartilage. 

Then, suddenly, he turned slightly and looked at her. She would have looked away quickly, but his gaze was sharp and insistent, drawing her eyes to his. His were like endless black pits, pupils nearly invisible. His wavy hair fell into his eyes, making them seem even darker and contrasting with his pale, pale skin. She couldn't break her gaze from his…

“Miss Bennett!” 

She jumped in her seat, turning to the front of the room, and her pencil flew out of her hand. It hit Emily Woods, an extremely popular cheerleader, in the back of the head, and she turned to face Ashley. Emily gave her a dirty look and mouthed, very clearly,  _ bitch.  _

Ashley looked at the teacher guiltily. “Yes?” 

Wright stared back at her disapprovingly, her lips pursed into a straight, thin line. “We are reviewing what we learned about the minor gods. If you would like to stare off and daydream in my class and not answer questions, you will fail this unit like you have done so previously.” She dismissively turned back to the rest of the class, continuing with her lesson. 

Ashley flushed crimson and ducked her head, trying to hold back the urge to hyperventilate. It wasn't her fault she was bad at English or literature based classes, really. She just wasn't trying hard enough, according to her father and all her teachers. In kindergarten, when all the other kids could read simple sentences, she was struggling. It wasn't that she was stupid. She just couldn't focus. When she told her parents that the words and letters jumbled together and jumped around, they had taken her to the doctor immediately and demanded that they fix her. When they diagnosed her with dyslexia, her father claimed that the man was wrong and couldn't do his job properly. The poor doctor was sued the next day. Since then, he pushed her to read more, to stop twitching in her seat, to be  _ normal.  _ But she couldn't. Of course her father told her teachers that nothing was wrong with her and that she just wasn't putting in the proper amount of effort. Her stepmother, bless her, would protest and say that it was common, that she just needed extra help, but he would have none of it. 

So she tried. She pushed herself to read and understand the material. But it only worked to some extent. She had average grades even though she knew as much as a straight A student did. And in  _ this _ class,  _ this  _ teacher, had called her out because she wasn't paying attention during a  _ review?  _

She could feel a lump rising in her throat when a small, crumpled up piece of paper landed on her desk. She blinked and slowly opened it, careful of making any noise. After a quick moment of concentration, she realized that on the paper was scrawled a quick ‘ _ Goddess of magic: Hecate’.  _

Ashley sucked in a tiny breath. It had only been a few seconds since Wright had begun speaking again. She covered the paper with her hand and slid it into her lap. After a small moment of hesitation, thinking that whoever had thrown her the note was playing her, she spoke. “The goddess of magic is Hecate, Mrs. Wright.” 

The teacher turned around slowly. “Excuse me?” she asked carefully. 

All eyes were on her now. She gulped and spoke timidly. “I just registered what you asked me. The goddess-” 

“I heard what you said. While I appreciate the fact that you were paying  _ some  _ attention to my lecture,” Wright said, sounding like she didn't appreciate anything at all, “I do not like being interrupted, Miss Bennett. Please see to it that this doesn't happen again.” 

“Right, Mrs. Wright,” she said absently, the teacher already having turned away. A few people chuckled at her pun and she smiled slightly. 

When the lesson resumed its normal pace, she looked around the room. The majority of the class was either taking notes or listening, and a few people were discreetly checking their phones. But the new kid was looking right at her again, one corner of his mouth quirked. When she focused on him, his smirk grew slightly and he, very discreetly, nodded. 

She blinked at him in surprise, but he was already facing the front of the room again, face stoic and bored once more. She stared for a moment more before closing her eyes, a tiny burst of warmth blossoming in her chest. It wasn't really fair to keep calling him  _ new kid _ , even though it was only in her head. She reached inside her bag for another pencil. After making sure Wright wasn't looking in her direction, she brought out the slightly crumpled note, turned it over, and scribbled something. Carefully folding it up as much as she could, she lightly threw it, and it landed right in the middle of his desk. She turned back to the teacher, ears open.

*** 

Nico glanced down at the tiny ball of paper that landed on his desk when he was sure the teacher wasn't looking in his direction. He unfolded it, and on it, in a graceful, loopy hand, was written two simple words. 

_ Thank you.  _


	3. chapter 3

Nico had no idea why he had helped her. But he had a few hunches, which he tried to ignore.

One was that she looked so innocent, her light eyes wide with surprise and slight fear as she jerked to face the teacher that wanted to humiliate her. Her face, filled with shame as her peers snickered at her, gaze lowering to her lap, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater. 

It was reflex. Or, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. He simply saw something that didn’t sit well with him, and he automatically did something to solve it. 

He clamped down on the part of his brain that told him he  _ liked it  _ as she stared at him, as if she was bound and couldn’t look away.

But as much as he tried to deny it, he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried, the flush of warmth that rose from his chest as he read her simple reply. She didn’t turn to look at him again after that, but he noticed the smile that never quite left her face. 

He stared at her as he mulled this over, lost in his thoughts as he studied her side profile. She really did look innocent, he mused, with her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, her determined expression prominent as she studied the board, trying to take good notes. She didn’t dress like most high school girls, who wore the tightest pants possible, squeezing themselves until they nearly popped to appease the other gender. She wore a simple pair of jeans, an oversized sweater that engulfed her frame to ward off the cold autumn chill, and a pair of heeled boots. His eyes traveled up her figure, noting her glittering silver earrings that brushed her neck as her head tilted, mouth opening slightly, as she found something the teacher said interesting - which was a feat in and of itself considering nobody found whatever left the teacher’s mouth to be worth th-

_ Ring! _

As if all the students were one being, everyone rushed to their feet and began to dash toward the door, eager to leave. They ignored the cry of ‘ _ the bell doesn't dismiss you, I do _ ,’ from Mrs. Wright and exited, wanting to talk to their friends before the next period started. 

Speaking of which, he didn’t know where his next class was…

He quickly surveyed the room. There were a handful of people left, either gathering their things or loitering around, chattering. Two jocks, three cheerleaders, and  _ her.  _ His best bet was the girl he had helped before - Bennet, her last name was, he recalled - but he didn’t want to grab the attention of the jocks that were currently demonstrating what looked like a touchdown. 

One of the cheerleaders noticed that he hadn’t moved from his seat for a solid minute. 

She sauntered over to him, and placed her dainty fingers on the edge of his desk, her nails long and clawlike. “Hey, new kid, what’s wrong?” Her voice dripped with fake sympathy. “Need any help?” 

The mocking tone of her voice set his teeth on edge. He ignored the jocks that came closer to him, surrounding his desk. Whatever-her-first-name-was Bennet stared at them, her hands clenched around the straps of her backpack. The teacher studiously ignored them, her complete attention on erasing the board and straightening out her desk. But still, he was ever the gentleman. “No, thank you. I was just about to head out to my next class.”

“Man, you probably don’t even know where that is.” One of the jocks, a beefy boy an inch or two taller than him, swung an arm around Nico’s shoulders. His smile was full of teeth as he pretended to be concerned. “Let us walk you there.”

Nico tensed immediately, his mind screaming at him to  _ get away,  _ his body twitching with the need to remove whatever had gotten into his personal space. This mortal boy was in no way a threat, but he still had to physically restrain himself from flipping him over his shoulder. Reflex.

“Don’t you guys have practice next period all the way on the other side of school? I’ll take him.”

Ah, so she spoke up. 

“Aw, Ashley,” another girl piped, sickeningly sweet, “how nice of you.” She moved up to stand next to her, a small hand resting on her shoulder. “But we should still come with you. After all, you might trip and make him late, since you’re so clumsy…” the cheerleader, dartingly quick, tugged roughly on a lock of Ashley’s hair. Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper, face an inch from the other girl’s. “Next time, don’t aim for me. I’ll-”

“Thanks for offering to show me to class. Shall we?” And Nico was on her other side, a hand clasped around her elbow, already pulling her away from the group, not waiting for an answer. 

Ashley blinked in surprise. She hadn’t seen him move at all. Last time she checked, he was still sitting at his desk, his notebook and supplies out, backpack at his feet, but within a second, he was standing next to her, ready to leave. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, Nico’s hand still wrapped around her arm, as if he forgot it was there. 

“Uh… where  _ is  _ your next class? Nico, right?” 

“Yeah. It’s biology.”

She tried to fight the smile that was rising on her face, but couldn’t stop a small one from appearing. “You’re going in the wrong direction.”

He stopped in his tracks, opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, thought better of it, then closed it. She barely caught the sight of his cheeks dusting pink as he turned around sharply, striding in the other direction back where they came from. 

He still didn’t let go of her. 

“So what’s the deal with you and that girl?” he asked after a moment, desperate to change the topic. 

“Oh, well… I may have accidentally nailed her in the back of her head with my pencil in class. She didn’t like that, I guess. That, and she just hates me in general.”

He snorted. “I’m sure. You must have pretty sick aim to get that shot.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she mumbled under her breath, scowling. 

“Right.” He glanced around, noticing that the halls were nearly empty, the remaining students half jogging to get to class. “Oh,” he said, suddenly realizing something, “where’s your class? I didn’t mean to make you late or go in the wrong direction of where you need to be-”

“I have biology too. We might be late, but the teacher isn’t too strict. He’ll let you off the hook for being new, and I’ll say I was showing you around.” He nodded, and after a moment of hesitation, she spoke up again. “Uh… thanks again. For helping me with Mrs. Wright. I don’t know why she hates me so much, but thank you.” 

“No problem. I think we have that in common, at least. She seems to hate me with a passion.”

“Why did you help me, anyways?” she asked, looking up at him. Even with her two inch heeled boots, he was a good head taller than her, her eyes level with his chin. 

“Don’t really know. Guess I don’t like it when teachers think they’re all that and lord over students.” He glanced down at her, and their eyes locked again, and she almost tripped over her feet. His hand slowly dragged down her arm, and he grasped her wrist instead of her elbow, gently tugging her along a little more insistently. “Come on, let’s not be too late.”

She snickered, facing forward once more. “I thought we already went over the fact that you don’t know where you’re headed.” She slipped her hand out of his hold, wrapping her fingers around his wrist instead. The material of his light jacket was soft against her touch. She then pulled him to a door that he was about to confidently walk past by. “Here we are.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could tell that he was just embarrassed. She saved him even more of it by not commenting on it. She pulled away from him and opened the door to the classroom. 

An old man, most likely in his sixties, glanced up from his place at the whiteboard. “Ah, Ms. Bennet. Late once again?” 

“She was just showing me where to go, sir. I’m new.” Nico spoke up. 

“Di Angelo, correct?” At Nico’s nod, he gestured towards an empty lab table near the back of the room. “I’ll let your tardies slide. Ms. Bennet doesn’t have a lab partner, so you can pair with her for the rest of the semester.” 

Nico nodded once again and the two of them made their way to the table. 

A battle ensued. A battle in Nico’s head. He fought to stay awake while his body begged for rest, not satisfied with the mere three hours it had. Which was complete nonsense, considering that Nico had stayed awake on much less sleep for much longer periods of time, especially in  _ that place.  _ The memory made him shudder.  _ Well, I’m wide awake now _ , Nico thought, sighing softly. 

A glance at the clock told him that he had only tuned out a mere ten minutes of lecture. No longer feeling tired, he took out a pencil and tried to take notes. Tried. He squinted at the board, trying to make sense of what was on it. Math, he could understand. Physics, sure. Mythology, absolutely. But no way in hell could he get the workings of something so microscopic down pat. It didn’t make any sense to him, nor did he really care. It couldn’t help him in any way, not in a fight, and he was sure he wouldn’t need it later on. Why should it matter  _ how  _ a cell divides? It just does. 

He must have been staring intently at the board for quite some time, because he felt something poke his right arm. Turning, he saw Ashley looking at him, a small smile on her face, amusement glinting in her light brown eyes. “You know, you’re supposed to write that stuff down. I don’t think you can memorize it with just your eyes,” she whispered. She must have been sure that she wouldn’t be heard, maybe because they were near the back, or maybe because the teacher just had terrible hearing. 

He narrowed his eyes down at her in mock anger. “Ha,” he whispered back sarcastically. 

"Seriously. You can borrow my notes if you want. Fair warning, my handwriting sucks, though." 

He paused for a moment. "Nah," he said, "it's hard to read."

She cocked her head, eyes confused. "Huh?" 

Nico seemed to realize what he'd just said, and backtracked immediately. "No, no, it's just…" he sighed before continuing. "I'm dyslexic. It's hard to read any handwriting that isn't my own. I learn better by listening and watching, not reading or writing."

Ashley seemed to open her mouth to respond, but thought better of it and closed it. She nodded at him, turned back to the front, and continued to take notes. 

Nico decided to ignore the way his heart sank just a bit at her dismissal. Of course. He was the stupid new kid, and he just threw her offer of help back into her face. 

  
  
  


He was dyslexic too. She wasn't the only  _ 'freak idiot who couldn't read'  _ anymore. Not that she saw him that way, but that was what she'd heard her father hiss about her to her stepmother years ago. That's what her teachers in the first grade thought whenever she stumbled her way through a sentence. She'd started to believe it, after a while. 

But he was like her too. And he was struggling. She found a way to learn, tedious and time consuming as it was, and she didn't want to keep it to herself. 

He'd helped her too, after all. 

And so, a few minutes before the bell rang, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was slumped over in his chair, chin in his arms, staring at the teacher boredly. He hadn't looked at her since. 

She poked him in his shoulder with the soft end of her pencil. 

He didn't move, but his eyes darted over to her. He raised a mocking eyebrow.

She shoved her binder at him. At his blank expression, she started to speak. She didn't have to whisper anymore - the teacher ended the lesson, and everyone around them was talking and gathering their things, waiting for the bell. "I…" 

"If you're going to apologize or some shit, don't." 

"What?" She hadn't been expecting that. 

"I know it's pathetic that I'm stupid. Don't try to help out of pity. I'll figure it out. I just need to pass this class." 

"Wait, that's not-" Yes, she wanted to help, but she didn't pity him, obviously, she was like him too... Did she really come off that way? 

But she was cut off by the bell, and he was gone before she could try to stop him. 

She didn't see him again for the rest of the day. 


End file.
